


Hands Off

by nsyncgrrl



Category: Music RPF, NSYNC, Pop Music RPF, Popslash
Genre: 1990s, 2000s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, M/M, Rescue, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29055672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nsyncgrrl/pseuds/nsyncgrrl
Summary: Jealous!Justin was always my favorite. In this AU, Lance works at a local deli and Justin doesn't care for his coworker, especially when they're alone as they close up shop, so he decides to swing by and pay his boyfriend a visit.NOTE: There is homophobic language, predatory behavior, and aggression in this story.
Relationships: Lance Bass/Justin Timberlake
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Hands Off

Justin's pulling on his leather jacket, getting ready to leave, when the phone rings. He knows it's Lance -- his lover works the late shift at a local pizzeria and he's going to call when he needs to be picked up, the place closed ten minutes ago, so it has to be him. Snagging the phone on the second ring, Justin purrs, "Hey there, sexy boy."

"How'd you know it was me?" Lance asks, but Justin can hear the smile in his words and he's just glad the night's over. He can't wait to get his boy home.

"Damn," Justin laughs. "Here I thought it was my _ other _ boyfriend. You ready for me to come get you?"

Lance sighs. "We're running a little late, baby. Joe left me alone with the new kid --"

"It's already after eleven," Justin points out. "How much later --"

"It's just me and Jacob," Lance tells him. "And he's a lazy ass, let me tell you. Hasn't done shit all night."

Justin doesn't like the sound of that, the  _ just me and Jacob _ part. He has to swallow the bitter jealousy that rises in him at the words. "Why'd Joe leave?" he wants to know. He doesn't care for Joe all that much, either, to be honest -- he knows Lance likes him, they're good friends, and Joe's a great guy, he really is, but he gets too much of Lance's time as it is.  _ We need the money, _ Lance tells him, and it's true, they're just two college kids sharing a studio apartment in the city, a few blocks from school because neither of them have a car -- their only mode of transportation is Justin's beat-up old Harley that he spent most of his financial aid on last semester.  _ We can't live off love alone, baby, _ Lance likes to say. Justin always has to ask,  _ Why not? _

Because it's not that easy, he knows this, but it doesn't mean he has to  _ like _ the fact that they spend all day in class and then Lance works at the pizzeria every night. Justin used to work, too, at the campus bookstore but he hated the hours -- all weekends, and that's his time with Lance, that's not something he wants to compromise, so he quit.  _ And now he has to work twice as hard _ , he thinks, listening as Lance tries to explain how Joey's girlfriend's brother's cousin needed a ride home from a club, or some shit like that.  _ And I don't want him working too much later, he's got a morning class first thing. He needs to be home and he needs to be with me. _ "Another half hour," Lance is telling him. "That's all it should take. I'll just sweep and let Joe mop up in the morning."

"Make the new kid mop," Justin suggests.

Lance groans. "Hon, this one's a loser," he whispers into the phone. Justin wonders where this new kid is that he doesn't overhear. "Capital L, you know what I mean? Did nothing but lean on the counter all night long and now he's in the bathroom, been in there ten minutes. There's no  _ way _ he's gonna last long here."

With a coy grin, Justin twists the phone cord in his fingers and asks, "Should I be jealous?"

"God." In his mind, Justin can almost see his lover shake his head. "Baby, let me tell you he is  _ nothing _ to get worked up over. Trust me."

"He ain't all that, eh?" Justin asks. He laughs at the sardonic noise Lance makes in the back of his throat. "He can't be  _ that  _ bad."

"Let's just say he's got nothing on you," Lance told him, "and we'll leave it at that."

Justin laughs again. "He's there with you now," he points out. "He's getting more of you than I am."

"Half hour," Lance promises. "Come pick me up then and I'll show you plenty more than he'll ever  _ dream _ of getting out of me." Lowering his voice, he says, "Speak of the devil. I gotta go. See you soon?"

"Not soon enough for me," Justin replies. "Love you."

"Love you, too." Lance kisses into the phone. "Half hour."

"I know," Justin tells him. Before he can say anything else, Lance hangs up.

Slowly Justin shrugs out of his jacket, sets it aside on the arm of the sofa. Then he sits down on the edge of the coffee table, toys with the TV remote before he clicks it on and the screen in front of him blares to life.  _ Another half hour, _ he thinks -- he wanted to be back by then, Lance just out of the shower and snuggling into the bed next to him, his body warm and still slightly damp. He glances at the clock above the TV and sighs. He'll leave in fifteen minutes. It'll take five to get to the pizzeria and he'll sit in one of the corner booths, wait for his boy to finish up, get a good look at this new kid and see for himself if there's anything to be jealous about.  _ He's with you right this minute and I'm not, _ he thinks. In Justin's book, that's reason enough to hate him right there.

* * *

Lance suppresses a shudder as he watches Jacob weave through the empty booths.  _ Why do I get stuck with these jerks? _ he thinks, ringing out the cash register. He resists the urge to hide the drawer from this new kid, who's about as smarmy as they come. He's got shifty eyes that Lance doesn't like one bit, they're too busy staring holes right through him, too calculating, too -- ugh. He doesn't want to even  _ think  _ about what he sees in their muddy depths. And the kid has these ratty dreds that just scream to be hacked off, thick bushy hair that Lance can't imagine he thinks is attractive, and the way he moves is like grease over water, almost  _ too _ slick. He doesn't know what the hell possessed Joe to hire this guy. He hasn't done jack all night, just snacked on free food and slurped down enough drinks to float home.

Jacob approaches the counter, leans down over its length like he's been working all night and now he's spent, and his eyes glisten as he watches Lance count the money. "Girlfriend?" he asks.

_ No, I don't need one, _ Lance thinks,  _ but thanks for asking.  _ Only he's not going to banter here, he wants to get home and take a shower and cuddle with Justin before he falls asleep. Most of all, he  _ really _ wants a shower, because the way Jacob stares at him makes him want to scrub himself with a Brillo pad, just to make sure he's gotten off all the sleaze. So he ignores the question, keeps counting the money, can't this guy see he's busy? "I said --"

"I'm counting here," Lance tells him.  _ I don't like you, _ he adds silently.  _ Go away. _ When he's finished with the twenties, he wonders how obvious it'd look if he counts them again. He doesn't. "What now?"

"On the phone," Jacob explains. He's got a voice like a snake, winding around words like he really means to say something else entirely but he won't, he wants Lance to guess what it might be. "I heard you say --"

"That was Justin," Lance says. He knows Jacob has to know about him, Joe mentioned him earlier and Lance heard Jacob ask about him, wanted to know who he was. "My boyfriend?"

Jacob laughs like this is a joke. "I thought he was kidding," he says, and Lance thinks he probably means Joe. "You're not  _ really _ gay, are you?"

_ Can I kill him now? _ Lance wonders, but instead he shoves the money into a bank bag and shakes his head. "I'm not but he is," he tells him, turning away to hide the smirk on his face. Let him work  _ that _ one out.

If he thinks that'll be enough to get the kid to leave him alone, he's wrong. Jacob follows him into the kitchen, leans against the grill, watches as he bends over to empty the trashcan like he's never seen anyone work before. "Can you help out here a bit?" Lance wants to know. He hands Jacob the trash bag, points to another can overflowing with garbage nearby. "I'd like to get out of here sometime tonight."

Jacob laughs. "Hot date after work?" he asks. Lance turns on the sink and pretends he can't hear him over the rush of water. Undaunted, Jacob continues. "So what is it you guys  _ do _ together?"

_ I am SO not talking sex with you, _ Lance thinks, turning the hot water on full blast. His skin begins to pink beneath the heat but he can't seem to wash off the slimy residue he swears he feels radiating from this kid. "I guess he ain't got it too bad," Jacob's saying, and Lance wishes he'd shut up already. "You got one hellacious ass, dude. Better than most girls. I'd stick it to you and I ain't even  _ like _ that."

_ Oh no, you didn't. _ Lance isn't even going to wait until tomorrow, he's calling Joe tonight, this kid is  _ not _ coming back in this place, not if he has anything to say about it. Maybe he should call Justin now, tell him to stop by a little early,  _ oh and by the way, baby, this new kid likes my ass, just thought you'd like to know. _

He grins at that. Justin would wreck his damn bike getting over here, he can see it already. His boyfriend has a jealous streak that Lance just loves to see go into full effect -- just thinking about his lover getting all possessive and pissy turns him on and he can't wait to get home now. He'll mention this little scene just to bring out the animal in Justin, just so he has to calm him down and kiss away his doubt and jealousy and rage, and he can't wait to hear his lover swear to kick this jerk's ass if he ever gets the chance.

* * *

Five minutes after turning on the TV, Justin clicks it off -- there's nothing playing that he wants to see. He can't stop thinking of Lance and that new kid and the way Joe just left the two of them to close up at the end of the day, how bad is that? The three of them could've had the place spotless by now, Lance would be on his way home, and Justin wouldn't be sitting here worrying that some creep might be hitting on his boy. Yes, he knows Lance is old enough to fend for himself. Yes, he knows they've been together for almost a year now, a year come December, and he knows he has nothing to fear, Lance is true to him, he loves him, he  _ does. _ But he hates it when other guys look at him, he wants to hit them so hard the leers disappear and the gleam in their eyes shatters -- Lance is  _ his. _ The rest of the world needs to keep its hands off his boy, look elsewhere because that shy smile, those champagne eyes, that wonderful body and amazing personality and everything there is that makes up Lance belongs to him. The same way everything he has belongs to Lance. It's as simple as that.

So maybe he'll head out to the pizzeria a little early, see if he has to do any rescuing tonight. He knows how horny Lance gets when he snaps into _Mortal Kombat_ fighter mode and if he can get in a good line or two, something to put this new Jacob kid in his place and let him know the boy's off limits, he thinks Lance might not wait until after his shower to get freaky with him.

Or maybe they'll  _ both _ take a shower, Justin thinks that would work -- there's nothing like watching the water trickle down the hard planes of his lover's body. Lance looks unbelievable wet, his hair slicked back and beads of water caught in his eyelashes, making them tiny dark spikes, the hair on his arms and legs dewy and soft. He's so damn lickable right then that Justin's never managed to make it from the shower to the bed -- they just make love in the bathroom, standing up in the bathtub or leaning against the sink or the door, anywhere they can. And that's exactly what he wants to do tonight, he thinks it's a wonderful idea, cold porcelain pressed against hot skin and the hell with it, he's going to pick his boy up  _ now. _

He stands up, stretches as he pulls the leather coat back on. Then he snaps on his gloves, grabs the helmets off the table in the hall -- his a deep cobalt blue because he thinks it looks sexy and it matches the bike, Lance's a light green that matches the color of his eyes in the morning. Outside it's dark, the only light from a flickering lamp down the street, reflecting off the chrome of his bike at the curb. He secures Lance's helmet behind the seat and tugs his on -- it's a little loose over his shaved hair that he's trying to grow back, Lance likes his curls, and he just has to cinch the strap a little by his chin to make it fit, that's all. He feels like Evel Kinevel in his tight black jeans and leather jacket, swinging one leg over the bike and feeling the steel beast roar to life beneath him. He revs the engine just to hear the choppy noise it makes and then he's gone, heading for the pizzeria and his boy.

* * *

Jacob follows Lance like a shadow. "The grill needs to be cleaned," Lance points out. "That bottle beneath it? There?"

"Where?" Jacob asks, and Lance wonders if he's this dense or if it's some kind of act, because he can see the cleaning solution himself from where he's sweeping by the pizza ovens.  _ If I have to come over there and show him, _ he starts, but he doesn't finish the thought -- Jacob leans over and pulls out the gallon jug of solution. "This?"

"Just pour it on the grill," Lance tells him. "Make sure it's turned off --"

"It is," Jacob says. He unscrews the cap and pours way too much cleaner on the grill, which might be off but it's still hot -- the liquid boils as it comes in contact with the blackened surface and the air reeks, suddenly full of smoke and the acidic sting of vinegar.

"Now scrape it off." Lance watches Jacob spread the cleaner around on the grill, listening to it sizzle and pop beneath the flat spatula in his hand. "Jacob, don't play in it. Just scrape it off, okay? I want to get out of here."

"You just want to go home and fuck your boyfriend," Jacob says, smiling through clenched teeth as he begins to scrape the grill.  _ I'm not responding to that,  _ Lance thinks. He turns back to the floor and his sweeping and tells himself that doesn't even deserve an answer.

He makes his way out of the kitchen, out from behind the counter, the broom moving across the floor with a steady rhythm that matches the sound of Jacob's spatula across the grill. For long minutes he lets his mind wander to Justin and how much he loves that boy and how much he's going to  _ show _ him he loves him tonight, after he showers off the grime that clings to him, showers away the sweat and the nasty stench that hugs him like a miasma. He doesn't notice that the kitchen falls silent until he looks up and Jacob's leaning against the counter, watching him sweep. "You finished?" Lance asks.

Jacob's eyes shine like he's high off the damn cleaner or he's been smoking joints in the bathroom all night, he just  _ looks _ stoned. "I bet you give good head," he says, his voice so low that at first Lance wants to ask him if he's just said what he thinks he heard. "Does he like it when you --"

"Are you finished with the grill?" Lance asks, sharper than he intends. This kid is definitely starting to piss him off.

Jacob ignores him, lets his oily gaze wander to the front of Lance's pants, and he has the audacity to lick his lips when he says, "Girls don't like to suck it off, I don't know why not. But you do, right? I mean, that's something you guys do, right?"

"I don't think that's any of your damn business --" Lance starts, getting angry.

Jacob laughs. "I'm just curious," he says, but the hard glint in his eyes isn't  _ just curious _ , not in the least. Taking a step closer, he asks, "So are you any good?"

_ You'll never find out, _ Lance thinks, turning away. "If you're done with the grill, you can take out the trash. Don't forget to dump the grease."

Jacob doesn't answer, just watches him with those veiled eyes and trails behind him as he sweeps out into the main room.  _ Baby, I hope you're on your way, _ Lance prays, glancing up at the clock above the counter. He's got another fifteen minutes before the time when he told Justin he'd be ready and he's calling Joe before he even gets in the shower tonight, fuck this shit. This kid is history.

* * *

Justin takes the last corner a little too tight, gravel and trash kicking up beneath his tires, and he can see the pizzeria ahead, the  _ open _ sign turned off but the lights still on inside. Lance is sweeping his way around the dining area -- Justin can see him through the window, broom in hand like a dance partner, muscles in his arms flexing as he moves. Justin loves those arms, he loves kneading them when they're sitting together, loves being held in them, loves sinking his teeth into the thick flesh when they're having sex and Lance comes in him, hot like liquid fire. He's still not sure what it was he ever did to deserve this boy but  _ thank you, God, _ he thinks, cutting the bike off as he coasts into the parking lot. Lance doesn't look up, doesn't hear his approach, and Justin leans over the handlebars, props his head up in one hand, stares at his lover who doesn't know he's there.

Then he notices the other guy in the pizzeria.  _ Must be Jacob, _ he thinks with a frown. One look at the kid hovering around the register and Justin knows he doesn't like him, not at all. The dreds do it, they look downright scary on this motherfucker, Joe was out of his ever loving  _ mind _ when he left Lance alone with this kid.  _ Why didn't you tell me the guy was a fucking freak? _ Justin wonders, climbing off his bike. He doesn't like the way this asshole's checking out his boy, all but salivating every time Lance leans over to pick something up. As Justin's watching, he sees the kid touch himself, stroke at his crotch like he's thinking he should be rubbing it against Lance, who's got his back turned and doesn't see the gesture. A dull anger rises in him, clouds his vision, his mind.  _ You are so dead, _ Justin thinks. He heads for the back door, the one that leads into the kitchen. He's going to break the kid's hand just for that alone.

* * *

"I've never been with a guy before," Jacob's saying, and Lance doesn't give a shit if he's never gotten it on at all, he's not hearing this, he's  _ not. _ From the corner of his eye he can see the way Jacob keeps adjusting the front of his baggy jeans like there are magnets in his crotch and palm and he can't keep them apart. "What's it like?"

Lance doesn't answer him. He's almost finished the floor and then there's just the trash, that's all that's left, and they'll take that out when they leave. Five minutes, tops. He can make it that long.

Suddenly a hand brushes across Lance's butt and he whirls around to find Jacob leering at him. "Hey!" Lance cries. It's not just anger now in his voice, it's fear, because he's never been touched like that before, not when he didn't invite it, not when he didn't  _ want _ it, and where the  _ fuck _ is Justin?  _ He should be here already.  _ Taking a step back, he holds the broom in both hands and glares when Jacob dares to come closer. "Don't even --"

"Come on," Jacob says, his voice soft, slithery -- if he's trying for seductive, he's failing miserably. "I bet you're good. Who'll know?" He lowers his voice, gives Lance a look that says he thinks he knows exactly what he wants.  _ God, you are so wrong, _ Lance thinks, stepping back. "You like it, right?" Jacob asks. "Don't you want it?"

_ Not from you, _ Lance thinks. "Look," he tries, but when Jacob takes another step closer, edging him back, he bumps against an empty booth and he's trapped, there's nowhere to go and he's  _ so _ not letting this guy touch him again. "I'm not interested, okay? I have Justin, remember him? It's called love, I'm sure you've heard of the concept before." Jacob takes another step and fuck decorum, fuck this shit, fuck  _ Joe _ for leaving him here alone with  _ this _ ... he falls back into the booth and clambers to the far side, drawing his knees up to his chin. "Touch me and I'm calling the cops," he promises. "You do  _ not _ want to go there, trust me."

For a moment he thinks Jacob's going to press the issue and he grips the broom tight in both hands, ready to lash out if he has to. Then the kid laughs, like this is funny, this is a joke and he's just waiting for Lance to get the punchline. Holding his hands up to show he means no harm, Jacob backs away, one step, two. "Hey man," he says, laughing again. "No need to get all wigged out here. I'm just saying --"

"Well don't," Lance tells him. "Take out the damn trash and just get out of here, okay? Just go."

Jacob shrugs. "Sure. What about --"

"I'll lock up," Lance says. He hates that his hands are starting to shake and he clenches them into fists around the broomstick so Jacob won't notice. "Just leave."

"Sure," Jacob says again. He lets his gaze drift over Lance's body one more time, that faint leer on his lips again, that look in his eyes that tells Lance he doesn't want to run into this guy outside in the dark, not where he can't call for help. Then he turns and Lance can hear him in the kitchen, the trash bags rustling as he gathers them together.

_ When he leaves, _ Lance thinks,  _ I'm gonna lock the door and wait right here in the light, by the phone, until Justin shows up. _ It'll take everything his lover has, every touch, every kiss, to erase the memory of  _ this _ night.

* * *

The back door is locked, and for long minutes Justin twists the knob in his hands, sure someone will hear him on the other side and open up. They don't. He knocks but there's no answer. Maybe he should go around the front, knock on the windows, press his face against the glass until Lance sees him and lets him in. It's a good idea so he turns from the door, starts around the corner, he wants to make sure that fuckhead isn't feeling up his boy --

He hears a latch in the quiet night and then the back door squeaks open.  _ Lance, _ he thinks, turning around. Someone comes outside, hands full of trash bags, heading for the dumpster, and Justin's about to call out his lover's name when he realizes it's not him. It's the new kid, humming tunelessly under his breath, a cocky swagger in his step that Justin doesn't like one bit.  _ Like he's got a hard-on, _ Justin thinks, and if that's the case then it has to be for Lance and he definitely doesn't like  _ that _ , not at  _ all _ . Matching his steps with Jacob's, he follows him away from the building, out of the small cone of light from the bulb that burns above the door, out into the night.

Jacob stops at the dumpster and Justin stops right behind him, an arm's length away, waiting. "Fucking faggot," Jacob mutters as he tosses the trash bags into the dumpster one by one.  _ I know he's not talking about my boy, _ Justin thinks, his face hardening into an angry mask. "Call the cops," Jacob laughs, his voice still low. Justin wonders what he's talking about. "Like I'm gonna rape him or some shit. Like he wouldn't  _ like _ it --"

He doesn't get a chance to finish that thought. Justin closes the distance between them in one step and shoves the punk up against the dumpster, twisting one arm behind his back and pinning him in place with an elbow stabbed into his neck. "You listen to me, asshole," Justin hisses, fisting his hand in Jacob's dreds and pulling until the kid's head won't go back any further. "I'll gouge your eyes out just for  _ looking _ at him, you got that? I'll break your fingers if you touch him." He slams Jacob against the dumpster once, hard, and the kid struggles beneath him like a captured insect. "You got  _ that _ ?"

"Get the fuck off me," Jacob starts, but his words are lost in a yowl of pain when Justin yanks on his dreds. "I didn't do shit, dude, get the hell  _ off _ me."

Behind them the door opens and Lance calls out his name, relief thick in his voice. "Justin."

Justin lets Jacob go, steps back, straightens his leather jacket. "You keep to yourself, you hear me?" he asks. Jacob glares at him but doesn't reply. With a sullen pout he wipes at the apron he wears, wiping the grease from the dumpster away. When his gaze flicks past Justin to where Lance stands by the door, Justin asks, "You think I'm kidding here?"

"I ain't touched him," Jacob says. Lance laughs like that's the biggest crock of shit he's heard all night and Justin wonders just how far things got if his boy threatened to call the cops. Sneering at Justin, Jacob adds, "I ain't a  _ faggot _ like you guys."

Justin lunges at him, arm drawn back, hand curled into a tight fist. Jacob flinches and Justin purrs, "Give me one reason why I shouldn't bring on the pain, kid. One reason."

From the doorway, Lance prompts, "How did you put it, Jacob? I'd stick it to you and I ain't even  _ like  _ that -- isn't that what you said? After you told me I had a hellacious ass, remember?"

Jacob's eyes go wide, dark shiny discs in his face, and he shakes his head when he looks at Justin. "No," he laughs. "I didn't -- you're taking it out of context, I'm not ... I didn't mean --"

Justin doesn't let him explain. His fist swings down, slamming the kid in the nose, knocking his head back against the dumpster with a loud ring that echoes through the night. But when he pulls back for another hit, Jacob shoves him away, kicks a foot behind Justin's ankle and Justin goes down, hits the pavement, tries to scramble to his feet but Jacob's already running for his car. Justin snatches at him, grabs a fist full of the kid's apron as Jacob shucks it off and is about to try again when Lance is there, pulling him back. "Honey," he's saying, and Justin barely hears him, he wants that kid, he's going to show him  _ no _ one fucks with him,  _ no  _ one messes with his boy. "Baby, please --"

"Let me go," Justin snarls as Jacob tugs open his car door, slams it shut behind him -- he rolls the window up just in case. "Hon, let me go. He's mine."

But Jacob's already started the car and the engine hiccups once before it catches. Then he tears out of the parking lot, tires spinning gravel at them as he speeds off down the empty road and is gone. "Lance! I had him --"

"Shh," Lance says, smoothing his hands down Justin's arms, across his chest, his cheeks. "Shh, baby, it's okay. He's gone." He kisses Justin tenderly, his lips warm and soft in the chilly night air.

Justin eases his arms around Lance's waist. "You're not working with him again," he mumbles, but he lets Lance kiss the words away. "I'll talk to Joe if I have to."

Lance kisses him again, hungry kisses, insistent, loving. "I'll tell him myself," he whispers. "Just take me home, baby, okay? I need a shower and I need you. Not necessarily in that order." Kneading Justin's shoulders, Lance breathes into his ear, "You don't know what it does to me when you fight for me like that."

Pulling him close, Justin can feel the bulge of his lover's erection. "Let me get you home," he says with a grin, Jacob already fading from his mind, "and you can show me."


End file.
